


Dirty Pop

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Drug Abuse, M/M, Overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chester wanted to laugh when Linkin Park was dubbed as ‘pop'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Pop

Chester wanted to laugh when Linkin Park was dubbed as ‘pop’. He wanted to laugh because, really, Linkin Park isn’t anything like pop. The pop industry is an intricate web of fabricated stories and false smiles. It is record companies and mangers rubbing their hands in glee each time another CD is sold or poster is made. Pop is fake smiles and fake people and its all so fucking fake and unbelievably sinful that Chester never wants to hear ‘Linkin Park’ and ‘Pop’ in the same sentence.

He met Avril Lavigne once. A little diva who’s hair was ruined from hours in front of a mirror meticulously applying products and heat to get rid of any kind of natural beauty it may have held. Despite her glaring pretension, Avril was actually quite pleasant. Chester saw a younger, more naive version of himself. He smiled down at her and asked, “What do you think about being classed as pop?”

Avril gave this fake smile with dead eyes and pearly teeth, replied “It’s just another label. And pop’s not all that bad anyway.”

She didn’t need to say anything, but Chester just knew she got up to more illicit things on her own than the entirety of Linkin Park whilst at a rowdy party.

Chester is fine with being a goody-goody. When he was younger he probably would have laughed at anyone who didn’t drink to get drunk any more, would have laughed at someone as adamant as he is now that he isn’t going to taint his son’s childhood the way his own was tainted. He doesn’t care what people think of him any more, that juvenile self-importance went out the window a long time ago.

Avril laughed her rehearsed laugh and asked “How long did you spend getting ready for this?” She gestured around her at the cameras and the other fakers. Chester shrugged and said nothing because, sure, he had spent far too long getting ready and grooming himself in front of the mirror but he can honestly say that for all the days he’s stood in front of the mirror scrutinising his reflection, there’s been a day where he’s stayed in bed until noon and then eaten nothing but last nights re-heated take aways until he had to sleep again and not so much as glanced at himself or even though about what he must look like.

Chester thinks he couldn’t possibly deal with being in the pop industry because the rock scene is dark enough for him. He wonders how bad things must be for Avril and the little punk rockers trapped in the world of pop whilst he rubs Mike’s back soothingly as the emcee coughs up the bottle of aspirin he just emptied into his stomach all because Chester doesn’t love him.

There’s enough drama already, thank you very much.

Half of Chester wanted to ask Avril if she’d ever had her best friend fall in love with her and what the hell would she do in his situation. The other half of him wanted to just run to Mike and fuck his brains out in a meager attempt to bring back his friend from the brink of self destruction, but he knows all that would do is break Mike’s heart. Chester could sleep with Mike for months but there wouldn’t be any love there, only desire.

Mike hates Sam. Chester lets him, knowing that it isn’t anything personal – Mike would hate anyone Chester was with. It was jealousy, not deep rooted hatred. Mike tried to hate Chester too, for some time. They’d end up arguing over the stupidest things, loudly and for hours. Mike would say as many hateful words as he could think of off the top of his head and Chester would just stand their patiently and take it.

Chester can honestly say that he has never seen jealously of such magnitude before, doesn’t want to believe that he has inspired an emotion so ugly he doesn’t recognise his friend any more. He doesn’t recognise this broken figure huddled over the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl, breathing raggedly as his hand grasps for the chain to flush away that which had the potential to be his suicide.

Mike grips the bowl until his knuckles turn white, his skin his pasty and clammy and his eyes look dull and lifeless. He turns his pale face up to Chester and meets the singer’s eyes. Chester sighs, “I’m so sorry, Mike.” He whispers, reaching out and stroking Mike’s cheek gently with his thumb and tracing over his cheek bones tenderly, never looking away.

Mike ducks his head and moves out of Chester’s light grip. Tears fill up his dark eyes and all he can mumble is “I know.”


End file.
